Hey Arnold!: The Unexpected Life
by Arnold's Love
Summary: Life may never be quite what you expected, but it's never too late to make a change.
1. Episode 1 Part 1

**Hey Arnold!: The Unexpected Life**

_A/N: Guys! My muse is back full force and I can hardly fit in all the writing my brain is coming up with! I'm so excited to share this with you! I've had this idea in my head for 2 years or so and the other day I woke up and the whole first 3 chapters were laid out in my head._

_So the plan for this story is as follows: I'm looking at it as episodic in style. Each episode will be 3 parts. I will post one and then the next one the following one and the next one the week after that. And I will never start posting and episode unless all 3 of each episode are finished. That way if I ever had to take a hiatus there will be some form of closure in my absence. So the first three I'm naming Episode 1 (Parts 1, 2, 3). Hopefully you followed that. ALL the characters will have their time and in your review please tell me which characters you'd like to see and suggest conflict, drama, etc. It's a tv show style drama so I'd love hear what you want to see._

_And lastly, if you know me, you know I'm a Shortaki supporter so be patient, my friends!_

_Enjoy! Remember to review!_

_Love,_

_Arnold's Love_

* * *

_Hey Arnold!: The Unexpected Life_

_Episode 1, Part 1_

_August 2018_

"And one, two, three, four and turn, two, three, four…"

Clapping a steady beat, Helga watched the group of dancers as they practiced their routine. With only a few weeks until their incredibly important performance, mistakes were not an option.

"Mony, watch your footwork there! Make sure you're stepping on the right beats. And Kelsey, your lines need to be straighter—especially for this dance! It must look sharp and precise! From the top! And one, two, three…"

The young girls twirled and stepped together in unison, their movements fluid and graceful. There was something about dancing that just allowed Helga to escape the cares of life and just be in the moment. Practice that whole mindfulness thing that seemed to be all the rage lately. It was like physical poetry, moving to a synchronized beat, each motion a stanza or a perfect rhyme flowing across the page like pen on paper. Almost nothing could pull her back to the world.

Almost nothing.

A loud grown erupted from her midsection. Her painful and growling stomach was far from happy and the dreaded Pataki-hangry was only minutes away. Hopeful, she glanced at the clock and breathed a sigh of relief when the clock read that class was indeed over, and her lunch break was mere minutes away.

"Alright, class, great work today! I'm proud of you guys for learning this dance so quickly," she smiled as the young teens gathering around her excitedly. "Please, make sure you practice at home as well. This is a big deal for both me and the studio—and of course for each of you. It's a great honor to be a part of a Wellington-Lloyd event. See you guys Monday."

The room erupted in giggles and twittering from the students—still something Helga didn't fully understand and would probably never relate to. But she smiled all the same, happy to see her students so excited about something. She could feel the bubbling of excitement in her own body, just as she did before every performance. She was proud of her students and dance school. It had all come a long way from the one roomed dump on central she'd started with years ago. The studio she now ran was something to be proud of and to brag about. The architecture on the outside designed by one of Wellington-Lloyd's finest architectures was modern, chic, and an artistic beauty, boasting numerous large wall-length windows, sleek white walls, and wonderfully contrasting floors. Helga had to admit Rhonda had an eye for quality and artistry.

With her students finally gone, Helga danced around the room, tidying up before heading out into the lobby. She pulled her purse and jacket from behind the door of her office and was _almost_ out the door—

"Ms. Pataki, you've got a call on line one!"

Helga tensed up, before slowly turning around with a grimace. "Timberly, why don't you tell them I'm at lunch."

Timberly's face actually winced. "Well, she wouldn't listen. She just kept yelling at me. I really think you ought to answer it. She seems pretty upset."

Helga sighed and picked up the phone, biting back the 'hanger' inside of her as best she could, and shooting Timberly a forgiving smile. She couldn't blame the young women, few people would relish the thought of dealing with an upset client. "Hello, this is Ms. Pataki speaking."

"You!" the voice on the line fairly screamed. Helga pulled the receiver farther away from her ear and cringed.

"That is what I said." Helga rolled her eyes heavenward in irritation. "How can I help you?"

"I'll have you know, Ms. Pataki that my daughter is in her room in tears! She's an absolute mess!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sure that's very awful, but I'm not sure why it's any of my concern?"

Timberly's eyes widened at Helga's response. Helga shrugged at her.

The woman made an angry sound before talking again. "It's your fault, Ms. Pataki. That is why it should concern you. You told her she looked like a lame goat during dance lessons and she's beside herself with grief."

"Well, first of all, I'm not sure you're using the term 'grief' correctly but I'll let that slide—"

Another angry huff interrupted her.

"And frankly, Mrs. Abernathy, she _did_ look like a lame goat. Tell her to practice outside of class occasionally instead of…well, _never_ practicing, and she'll soon be looking like a graceful swan instead. Good day." With that Helga reached over the counter and placed the phone back in the receiver.

"Helga! What are you thinking?" Timberly asked, her expression terrified.

"I'm thinking parents these days coddle their children and it's ridiculous. You want a successful child, give them a reason to try harder to succeed."

Timberly shrugged, a small smile on her lips as Helga turned to leave. But her smile faded instantly as the phone began ringing again.

Glancing over her shoulder Helga raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't answer that. Best take your lunch break now as well. I'll lock up behind you."

Stepping outside, Helga breathed in the fresh air. It may have still been summer, but the breeze in her hair whispered of the chill of the coming fall and all the goodness that always came with it.

* * *

As he listened to the other line on his phone, Miles fiddled with the family picture on his desk. He'd thought about updating the picture numerous times, but something about it made him feel complete. His family all together for one of the last times. His father giving him bunny ears while his mother dressed in a rather bohemian outfit, hugged his father around the waist, Miles' arm around his wife, both her arms tightly around him, hugging his close. And his son, eighteen years and donning his blue graduation cap and gown, holding his 3 year-old sister Andrea. His wonderful family whole for the last picture ever.

"Don't worry," Miles said, refocusing on the conversation at hand, "everything will be ready for you next week. Please, don't worry." He paused, waited for her response. "Alright, bye!"

Hanging up the phone he heaved a relieved sigh. "That woman and her charity event is going to be the death of me."

"What woman?"

He turned around, his daughter Andrea, or Andy as they called her, leaned casually against the doorway of his office, hardly the tiny three year-old she was all those years ago. She was sixteen and beautiful, with large, bright green eyes, small nose, freckles, and her mother's wavy brown hair. Not to mention the fact that as she'd matured so had her body, not something a dad can ever be happy about and he found himself ever worried about those high school boys she was surrounded by at school.

"Mrs. Rhonda Wellington-Lloyd," he told her, putting the picture back in its rightful place.

Andy let out a sardonic whistle. "No doubt."

"At least this event should bring in some money for the museum. Heaven knows we need it."

"By the way, Dad," she said approaching his desk and pointing at the wall behind him, "you're watching the clock right? We've gotta be home soon to help with all the unpacking."

Miles glanced down at his watch, surprised at the late hour. "Wow, how the time flies when you're talking to a crazy lady on the phone."

Andy covered her mouth to silence a giggle before giving him a reproachful look. "Dad."

"What?" He shrugged. "Everyone knows that's woman's got a few screws loose."

"Dad."

"Fine. I'm sure she's a lovely lady. Go grab your stuff, let's head out. I'll let Suzy know she's in charge for the rest of the day."

Andy shot him a thumbs up before head out the door to finish up her work and grab her things. Miles smiled. He was so grateful that he was able to watch Andy grow up instead of missing out on so many years like he had missed out with his son. A painful stab in his chest caused him to flinch, and that all-too familiar regret washed over him. If only…

But worrying about what might have been only caused one to miss out on more of the present, something he had to constantly remind himself.

Before too long they were sitting in the car, listening to the radio, Andy's melodic voice synchronizing each word with the singer.

"How was your day?" Miles asked, as excited as always to hear anything about his kids' life.

"It was really great, Dad. Thanks for letting me work the summer at the museum. It's been a blast. Especially with that Egyptian exhibit here this year!" She clapped her hands together, her green eyes twinkling. "It's been so much fun!"

"I'm glad you've enjoyed it. You're a much better help than last year's assistant."

"Tonight's the show choir retreat, by the way," Andy added. "You didn't forget, right?"

"Oh, that's right! Are you excited?" He was so proud of her. She'd worked hard and nailed the audition. Show Choir was every musical student's goal, and she had made it and he couldn't be more proud.

"Of course!" she replied, but then paused a moment, her expression changing to more serious. "But I'm also nervous. It's scary being the only junior girl to make it. I don't really know very many of the other members. I've just seen them in passing, you know what I mean?"

Miles could tell from her expression that she was more than just nervous. She looked almost terrified. Andy was a bubbly, friendly girl, but at the same time she was introverted and sometimes putting herself out there among people or groups she was less familiar with, was very hard on her. "You'll do fine, Andy. Just be yourself. You can't go wrong," Miles comforted, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm sure you're right, Dad." Andy grinned at him. "I mean look how great Arnold's turned out. I bet a lot of that's thanks to you."

His smile faded as that old pang of regret returned once more. Twenty years later, you'd think he'd learned to move past it. "Well, I think your grandparents might have had a bit to do with that too."

She giggled. "Dad, just because some bad things happened that kept you away from Arnold—things you couldn't control, by the way—doesn't mean you failed him, you know. You're an amazing dad. And even if Arnold and I are fifteen years apart I've been around long enough to see how much you've taught him." She leaned over putting her head on his shoulder. "He's a good man, just like you are."

Miles laid his head on hers, putting his arm around her gently. "Andy, you're a good kid. I'm very blessed to call you daughter."

Pulling up to the house they smiled at each other as they spotted a moving truck pulling up as well.

"Perfect timing," they said together before breaking into laughter. Andy flung the door open excitedly, racing up the driveway, and Miles smiled to himself. _I do have great kids._

* * *

Where else would Helga eat, but the Lemon Puddin' Café? Lemon pudding may have been their specialty, but they had much more delicious home cooked food available as well. Helga shook her head. To think she spent years mocking one of the owners for his love of lemon pudding, only to end up coming to his café multiple times a week to enjoy his amazing recipes.

"Helga!" a high-pitched, but sweet voice exclaimed as she walk in, the chime above the entrance ringing softly. She glanced around, but didn't see anyone, and grinned to herself in amusement.

"How do you know it's me?" Helga asked, stepping around and still trying to find the owner of the voice.

"It's Friday at noon, who else would it be?"

"Absolutely anyone else who works nearby and is on their lunch break," Helga teased, leaning over to look behind the counter. "You've got flour on your cheek."

Lila giggled, lifting up her apron to wipe at the wrong cheek before redirecting her attention to the lovely display of deserts she was arranging. "Maybe I'm psychic and that's how I knew."

"Or maybe your mother's intuition has developed even more levels of power," Helga laughed, as Lila stood up to stretch her back, her large expectant belly popping out even more as she did so.

"If that were the case I'd sure understand my preteen a lot better," she said with a sigh, waddling around the counter. "Now, you owe me a hug! You know I can't let a friend come here without a hug."

"Are you sure you can manage with that wide load out front?"

"Har-har," she laughed, throwing her arms around Helga, who returned the hug willingly.

"So where's the Stink-meister? Yo, Stinky!" Helga hollered towards to back of the cafe.

"Hi, Helga! What'll it be today?" Stinky greeted, popping his tall head out from behind the half wall that separated the counter from the kitchen in back. Helga was still convinced she'd never met anyone taller than Stinky Peterson. At 6'7" than man towered over everyone, including his short, petite wife. They were quite the pair to look at, but perfectly matched in marriage.

"How about one of your amazing bacon burgers?"

"Coming right up!"

Helga's phone began buzzing then. She glanced at the ID before apologizing to Lila and answering. "Hey, Princess, what can I do for you?"

"_Helga, now, I just want to make sure that everything is going to go perfectly for Friday."_

Helga shook her head in amusement. "Rhonda, I've got it covered. I promise."

"_But, Helga, you don't understand,"_ Rhonda rushed on anyway, _"I'm counting on your for the entertainment and everything must be just right. Johnson, please don't put the flowers there. They will clash with my Boca do Lobo sofa."_

"Rhonda…Rhonda!"

"_I'm sorry, Johnson's eye for décor isn't always on par." _

"Focus, Princess. Listen to me," Helga continued. "Quit worrying, nothing will go wrong. All the dancers are doing great. You've got to calm down. Don't you trust me?"

"_Well, Helga, it's not you I don't trust, it's the children! How can you be sure they won't mess something up? I mean I remember the problems we caused as kids, so I can only imagine this generation—"_

"Because they won't," Helga interrupted. "They'll all have their routines down to a T. Mark my words, you have nothing to worry about." Helga knew that even reassuring Rhonda as she was would do little good until after the event ended in a success. Rhonda had a history of being high strung until things were over.

"_Well, I really hope—oh, I've gotta run, darling! It's the museum curator! Just be sure your dancers have their routine's down perfectly. Ta-ta!"_

Helga hung up, tossed the phone on the counter, and dropped her face into her palm. "That woman is exhausting," she sighed from inside her hand.

Lila giggled. "I know what you mean. She means well though. And at least it benefits you as well this time."

Helga lifted her head once more and smiled at her friend. "That _is_ a big plus. Now let's get down to business. So for the food on Friday…"

* * *

Lila tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, before taking her daughters hand and walking across the street towards the dance studio. Why she decided to _walk_ to the studio at nine months pregnant was lost on her. Her breath came in short huffs and her sides were beginning to ache. _Round ligament pain_ the doctor had called them. Perfectly normal. She'd like to punch the clueless idiot in the face. Men shouldn't be allowed to be OBGYNs unless they found a way for them to suffer the same pains and come out of it feeling actually empathetic.

"Have a great time, Mae!" she called, interrupting her own less than kind thoughts. "Listen to Ms. Pataki, and do your best." She watched her little nine-year old daughter skip her way through the door, her red braids bouncing behind her.

Once Mae was safely inside, Lila collapsed on a bench on the side of the building. She toyed with the idea of calling someone to come pick her up. At the very least she was going to have to rest there a long time before walking again. The baby in her belly kicked, and she smiled down at it, rubbing the sides gently, playing with the little one inside her.

Some people thought they were crazy. She knew it because these days, people didn't stop to think before they spoke. A sixth child on the way sort of made people judge them harshly. Something that irritated her more than it did Stinky. He didn't seem to care what anyone thought, but Lila did. She didn't understand why people wouldn't looked past the number to see how happy they were—all eight of them. Or the fact that even with five going on six, they still managed be well involved in their kids life and not a bit neglectful. But she supposed she'd better get used to it and try to ignore it.

As if on cue, her phone began ringing. Caller ID told her it was her home number.

"Hello?"

"_Mom, where's my Incisions t-shirt?"_ the snippy voice on the phone asked.

"Hi, to you too, Franny."

"_Ugh. Mom! Just answer the question. Where's my shirt?"_

Lila sighed. She wondered if Francine's behavior was normal for a preteen. "Which shirt is that one?"

Even though she couldn't see Francine's face it was almost as if she could hear her rolling her eyes_. "The black one."_ When Lila didn't respond she continued in an irritated voice. _"The black one with the crying iron maiden on it that says 'Incisions' along the side in _big, bold_ letters."_

Lila grimaced. The rude sarcasm in her daughter's voice wasn't lost on her. "Watch your tone, Francine. That shirt's in the dryer."

There was a pause and Lila assumed Francine was searching through the dryer for it. She didn't have to wait long. _"Ugh. Mom!"_ she whined. _"It's a wrinkled, pathetic mess! Can't you do anything right?"_ She slammed the phone down Lila's ear.

Lila hung her head, feeling suddenly more exhausted than ever. Her phone buzzed again and she groaned.

"Hello?"

"_Lila Peterson?"_

"Yes, this is Lila."

"_Hi, my name is Jeremiah Goldstein. I'm calling from The Bank of America."_

Lila felt herself stiffen. The bank had never called her before. Suddenly she worried that she'd left her credit card somewhere and someone had been running a balance up on her card. "Okay, and what is this regarding?"

"_Your over-due mortgage payment for the property at 400 Parker Street."_

Lila's heart froze. Surely this was a mistake. "What do you mean over-due?"

He paused on the other line before replying. _"As in you haven't paid it in six months."_

"What? But our investor—"

"_Ma'am, I'm afraid you'll have to take this up with them. All I've know is your payment is late and if you don't get us the missing payments by the 30__th__, we'll have to begin the foreclosure procedure."_

"But, wait, I mean, that's not very much time!" Lila exclaimed panic taking over her already foggy brain.

"_I'm sorry, that's all I can do. Please call us if there's anything else we can help you with. Have a good day, ma'am."_

She ended the call and leaned her head back against the wall. "Have a good day? Yah right."

* * *

Helga waved to Mae and Lila as they turned to head to the crosswalk. Watching Mae was like stepping back into time and seeing Lila when she was nine too. Red braids, freckles, and overly perfectly perfection about her.

Her phone buzzed with message. She opened it to read.

_Your bow was pink_

_My hat was blue_

_Nothing rhymed but the kitchen sink_

_So happy bad poetry day to you._

_-Arnold_

Helga chuckled out loud, a spot in her heart warming at the horribly awful poem on her phone screen. He never failed to send her a god-awful poem on August 18th. How many years had it been now since their freshman year in high school?

She shook her head not wanting to enumerate the years. But ever since then it had become a tradition and one that she cherished dearly. Arnold Shortman, bad poet extraordinaire, never failed to send her a poem each and every year. And each and ever year Helga stashed away and saved his horrible poems. And every year (well, more often than once a year if she was honest with herself), that painful ache of the lost love-of-her-life came back full force, instead of it's constantly-in-the-back-of-her-mind ache.

Quickly she texted him back.

_I can't help but chortle_

_When I think of Arnold's lame poetry_

_It's just so darn dreadful_

_Especially that one about his knee_

Before she had even put her phone back in her back pocket it buzzed again.

_Hey, that knee poem was one of my best! LOL_

_I'm sorry, is August 18__th__ also opposite day? My apologies for not knowing. LMAO_

She chuckled, and slipped the phone into her pocket. The teasing breeze tickled the fallen wisps of her pale hair and she glanced to her left. It had been a long time since she walked down Vine Street and August 18th—_their_ day—felt like the perfect timing to take a stroll.

She ambled down the road, a rare pace for her, but one she enjoyed occasionally when walking down Vine. She passed Mrs. Vitello's Flower Shop and waved to Harold at Green's Meats. All in the anticipation of her ever familiar and forever favorite location on Vine.

The Sunset Arms boarding house. A place full of so many memories—good and bad—and so much of her young heart. It amplified those heart aches, but she'd grown used to the endless pain in her heart—accepted it would always be there—always be a part of her. And that was okay. She'd come to accept that.

Although Sunset Arms wasn't currently a boarding house. It had fallen into bad shape a few years back and Arnold's parents had been working hard to fix it up, though it seemed to not look much different than it had years ago. Helga assumed they were focusing on the inside first.

That was until she spotted a moving truck out front. _Okay, then_, she thought, _I guess they were _only_ fixing the inside._ It would seem it was once more a boarding house. The moving truck was large, at least a twenty-seven footer and Helga wondered how the new tenant planned to fit everything inside.

She stood across the street, reminiscing, old feelings and memories tickling her senses. One particularly special person touched her mind then and she glanced down at her watch wondering if there was still enough time grab some flowers before dusk and pay a visit.

* * *

"Oh, no! He's got me!" Andy exclaimed leaning back as the one year-old, Dean, jumped on her stomach. "But he forgot one thing, I am Andy the Great!" She growled dramatically, picking up the little guy and tossing him roughly on the couch. He giggled and reached up his arms to her.

"He wants to do it again," Gertie explained, translating for her little brother.

"Andy, it's time for you to leave for the retreat," Stella called from the kitchen. "We don't want you to be late. Cassandra is going to give you a ride."

"Okay, sound good! Alright, my littles," Andy smiled, turning to the two little kids, "Auntie's gotta go, so now it's time to go get Grandpa! Get him!"

The two little ones erupted into giggles tackling Miles to the ground. "Oh no! They've got me!"

"Grandpa! We were playing chess!" the nine year-old Phillip groaned, crossing his arms across his chest in disappointment.

"I'll be back in just a second, Philly," Miles replied as Dean sat on his face. "Whoa! Someone needs a new diaper!"

"Better make it quick," Stella called peeking into the living room. "A pipe just burst in the kitchen." She grimaced in apology at him, even though it wasn't her fault.

"I'll be right there," Miles called. "Sorry, Philly, you'll have to be a patient a little longer."

* * *

What was it about graveyards that make it so year round there's dead leaves littering the ground and crinkling as they blow across the headstones. Helga shivered in spite of herself, and continued walking focusing on the still green grass and the still green trees with their leaves fluttering in the wind. Ignoring how the sky darkened with clouds, as if they felt the missing piece of her heavy heart.

Hillwood's cemetery was large and expansive and old. The city's founders and first settlers were buried there in the beginning and so many more since in the every growing, bustling city. She never forgot the path though. Even ten years later. It was engraved in her mind. Not because she visited frequently, but it had been engraved in her mind the day of the funeral.

It had been hard for her. So hard. Companionship had been a rare priveledge throughout Helga's life, but so needed. And that hole had been filled for a while, until suddenly it wasn't anymore and all that was left was a cold, gray headstone where a kind, loving face should have been.

She looked down at it sadly, the hole in her heart aching softly. She bent down and placed the happy daisies against the stone, tracing the words with her fingers.

_Gertrude Shortman_

_1917-2007_

_Loving Grandmother, Mother, and Friend_

_No freer spirit has there ever been_

Helga felt the tickle of a tear on her cheek. But she suddenly sensed she wasn't alone and heard the soft sound of a step and a throat being cleared. She reached up and brushed a tear away just as that unforgettable voice spoke softly behind her.

"Hello, Helga."

* * *

A/N: Next update coming: June 27th!


	2. Episode 1 Part 2

_A/N: Part 2 as promised! Part 3 comes next week!_

* * *

_Hey Arnold!: The Unexpected Life_

_Episode 1, Part 2_

Evening was nearing outside the Peterson farmhouse. The sky was still bright, but instead of a shining blue and yellow, it had turned to a warm tangerine glow. Lila knew that meant it was almost bedtime for the little ones. She dreaded it at the moment, her belly aching painfully from the walk to the studio. She was still reprimanding herself inwardly for being so dumb as to walk there instead of driving or taking a taxi. Bedtime with five little ones was anything but easy and generally took _hours_.

"Are you sure she needs this much food?" Stinky asked as he went over the food plans for Helga's dancers. "Seems kinda like an awful lot."

Lila nodded, refocusing on the task at hand. "There's something like 150 dancers all-together and they will be having a dress rehearsal before the event so they are going to be oh-so very hungry."

Grace tipped over her cup, nearly spilling apple juice all over the papers in front of Stinky. He lifted them up hastily, completely unphased, and Lila grabbed a towel and starting soaking up the mess. "Careful, Gracie," she cooed softly, ruffling the little girls hair.

"I reckon that is an awful lot," Stinky replied, writing a note in the margin. "So we've got sandwiches, chicken salad, salads, fruit kabobs, and lemon puddin'. What else?"

"Mo-om! Grace is stealin' my strawberries!" Wilbur cried, pulling his little sister's hair.

"Wilber Peterson! You let her go right now!" Lila commanded, rising to stand on her feet, trying to ignore the aches that swarmed over her body.

But Wilbur held tightly. "But Mo-om she's stealin' my strawberries! It ain't fair!"

"Grace, honey," Lila cooed, gently removing Wilber's hand from the three year-old's hair, "did you finish all your strawberries?"

"Yes," the little one replied, eyeing her brother's plate once more.

"Did you want some more?" Lila asked her slowly.

"Yes!" the little one exclaimed throwing herself on the table once more and reaching for Wilber's plate.

"Mo-om!" Wilber hollered smacking at his sister's hand.

"Wilber, stop." Lila placed a gently hand on Wilber's. "Grace, if you want more strawberries is taking your brother's the right way to get more?"

Grace paused, her face thoughtful. "Yes!"

"No, it is ever-so not," Lila replied. "If you want more all you have to do is ask mommy. Would you like the try that?"

"Okay."

Lila waited smiling sweetly at her daughter. But minutes ticked by and Grace just smiled back at her. "Grace, are you going to try? Say, 'mommy, can I have some more strawberries, please?"

"Mommy, can I have more strawberries, pweeze?"

"Of course, sweetheart, here you go," she placed some more on Grace's plate. Then seeing all was right with the children once more she plopped into her chair, rubbing her aching belly once more. Glancing over at her husband she felt her smile fade even more. They were going to lose the café. How in the world were they going to come up with six months of mortgage payments? Not to mention the fact that she still needed to call their investor to see what had happened there.

She opened her mouth to talk to Stinky about it, but he glanced up at her and smiled when he saw her looking at him. How could she ruin his positive mood that way? She decided to wait, and talk about it with him later—after she'd contacted the investor to see what had gone wrong.

"This will be great advertising for the café," Stinky commented cheerfully. "I reckon we can count on a lot of new customers come next week."

Yes, she'd wait until she'd gotten more information and Rhonda and Helga's event was over before dumping all the bad news on him. Besides, her belly was killing her and all she wanted to do was lay back on the bed and sleep.

* * *

"Here's your caramel macchiato," Arnold said, placing the steaming drink in front of Helga. His smile was big, warm, and heart-breaking as always.

"Thanks, Arnold." Helga couldn't look him in the eye. She turned her attention to the window next to them, gazing out at the pelting rain that had come out of nowhere just after Arnold found her at the cemetery. Helga wanted to shake her head and dispel the threads of emotion threatening to surge, but didn't. After all these years, he was back in Hillwood and she was back to running into him all over again. It was crazy and horrible and wonderful and problematic…

Had she moved on from her love for him? She had—as much as one can move on from the love of one's life. It didn't mean it was any easier to be around the guy, or head charming smile, or emerald eyes, or…

She heard him clear his through and looked down at her drink, and grimaced at the chocolate syrup drizzled heart on top. "Well, now that we've gotten safely out of that storm," she said, trying to sound as casual as possible, "how about you tell me what you're doing back in Hillwood, Mr. Horrible-Poet-Extraordinaire." She lifted the drink to her lips, taking a sip, not caring that it burnt going down and forced herself to meet his gaze—his deep sea-green, mesmerizing gaze. She held down the shiver that threatened to take over her body, and inwardly yelled at herself. How could he effect her so much after all these years?

He chuckled, his smile somehow getting even bigger. "I've moved back."

Helga almost choked the sip in her mouth. "What?"

He nodded, a stubborn piece of hair falling forward onto his forehead. All these years later and he still couldn't tame that blonde mane of his. "Yep, I'm here to stay again."

"What? For fun? Missed all the pollution and traffic?"

"Desperately." Arnold laughed and the sound of it filled Helga in places she had forgotten existed. "Actually I just got a new job and I plan to help my dad with the remodeling of the boarding house. He hasn't gotten very far on his own." The grimace he gave her spoke volumes on the condition of the house.

"I was noticing that," Helga managed to tease. "What's the new job? Going to rescue another turtle?"

"Close." He smiled at her again, his green eyes glowing. "Teaching 4th grade at P.S.118."

Helga felt her mouth drop open. "Shut up! You're joking right? Trying to pull one over on me? Have I not apologized enough for pretending to be blind in 4th grade?" Her heart sped up at the memory of 'Dark Arnold' as she had begin calling him. She'd love the way he'd played along with her, practically flirting with her. Too bad they'd only been in 4th grade…

"Nope. I'm being honest. I start next week."

"Simmons hire you?" Helga retorted a smirk gracing her lips.

"Yep."

"Figures. He always did think you were very "special". Of course, he thought everyone was "special", so don't let it go to your large football head."

"Hey! I'll have you know I'm a great teacher," Arnold replied, shaking his head and narrowing his eyes at her, though the good-natured amusement still shone through.

"I've no doubt, Football-head. I can see it all now," Helga began, putting on her most peppy Arnold-centric voice before continuing, "hey guys, lets all work _together_ and finish this math problem as a _team_! Fractions are super easy and so much fun! Stay positive and always look on the brightside!"

Arnold shot her a playful glare. "I see you still _pretend_ to be good at impersonations."

She shrugged. "Eh, I still dabble in it here and there."

They both laughed together, some of the awkwardness of the moment finally dissipating.

"What about you, Helga? What have you been up to?" Arnold asked, taking a sip of his drink, still watching her over the brim of his cup.

Helga wished he'd look out the window or something instead of constantly wanting to make eye contact. "I own a dance academy and spend most of my days teaching giggly girls and a few boys to dance."

"Wow, that's amazing, Helga!"

If it had been anyone else, Helga would have thought they were being sarcastic and clobbered them, but Arnold's honesty rang through his words and Helga knew he meant every ounce of his compliment. She shrugged, ignoring the heat in her cheeks.

"No really." He continued reaching out and putting his hand on hers soflty. If it was anyone but Arnold, that small gesture would mean so much more than just emphasizing a point. Helga tried to ignore the inevitable tingles in her fingers as Arnold continued, "I remember when you danced in the talent show in high school, you were…" but he trailed off, searching for the right words.

"Aw, don't go getting all choked up on my account, Football-head," Helga teased, pulling her hand away and putting her drink to her lips once more.

Arnold shook his head. "No, I just remembering being so impressed that all along you had this incredible talent we never knew about."

"I don't have to be an open book. Pretty sure you should have learned that back then…you know, since we've known each other since preschool and all."

"There's nothing wrong with sharing things about yourself with your friends, Helga." The chiding sound in his voice almost set her off, but she ignored it and a slightly awkward silence flows between them.

"So how's the family?"

As if by magic, Arnold's face lit up. And suddenly it was so very clear to Helga what Arnold's true passion in life was. "They're great! Philip is nine now. I can't believe he's so getting so big! Gertie just turned five and Dean is almost 1 and a half."

Helga raised an eyebrow. "Dean? I don't remember hearing about him."

"I post about them on facebook all the time. I'm surprised you didn't see any."

Helga shrugged dismissively. "Eh, facebook's not really my style. If you ask me it should be called T.M.I.-book instead."

Arnold almost choked on his coffee. "Oh, Helga."

"So," Helga said swirling the remnants of her coffee in the bottom of her cup, "Philip for your grandpa, Gertie for your grandmother…where'd Dean come from?"

"Dino Spumoni," Arnold replied, deadpan.

Helga chuckled in amusement. "I should have known."

Arnold shrugs and glances out the window a moment. Helga breathed a soft sight of relief at the short moment of respite from his endless eye contact. But too soon he turned back to his old school mate. "What about you? Any chance of a wedding any time soon? We aren't getting any younger."

An annoyed grimace took over Helga's features. "What?"

Her expression was lost on him. "Are you seeing anybody?"

"What are you asking me out?" Helga asked, loving the way Arnold's face turned beet-red. "Sorry, I don't date married men. Never ends well."

Arnold's face somehow only seemed to only get redder and Helga loved that for one moment it wasn't her feeling the most awkward of the two of them. "No, that's…uh…well…that's not—"

"Calm down, Romeo," Helga teased, patting his arm gently. "I'm just teasing, Arnold. I know you better than that. You are as honorable as they come"

Arnold nodded and took a sip of his coffee, slowly regaining his composure. Helga sat quietly gazing out the window, trying to ignore the ghostly fingers of long lost love slipping through her ribs and squeezing her rapidly beating heart.

"So…are you?"

Helga wanted to run away at that moment. She'd thought she'd managed to skirt the topic nicely. "Geez, look, Arnoldo, you're not my BFF. I'm not gonna go giggling over boys with you. Sorry-not-sorry."

His face fell a bit and his gaze dropped to the table in front of them. "I was just wondering. I just want you to be happy too."

"Okay, fine," Helga groaned. She couldn't leave him feeling rejected like that. Arnold Shortman was never meant to be sad. Especially after getting his parents back when he was a kid. He was endless smiles ever after. "I'm recently single."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Eh, it is what it is. Mutual and all that jazz," she lied with a shrug. Arnold's unstoppable desire to fix things was practically oozing from his pores. And all Helga could do is pray that he'd keep it to himself.

* * *

"Hey what are you kids doing in Andy's room?" Miles asked, leaning a shoulder in the door frame of the attic bedroom every child that ever saw coveted.

"Just hanging out," Phillip replied from the couch that folded out from the wall. "She has the coolest room ever." Flipping a button on the remote in his hand, bright lights on the ceiling to turned on and faced downward.

Miles smiled. How could any kid not covet their amazing attic room. Once his own room, made cooler by Arnold, and finally by Andy, it had been almost legendary in Hillwood. What once sported blue wallpaper and orange carpet though, now donned lavender walls and light hardwood floors. The shelving along her bed had all been replaced with matching light wood. It's shelves were lined with all of Andy's favorite romance and mystery novels, copious amounts of sheet music, and a few knickknacks. The bookshelf along the wall opposite the door was white and held Arnold's old stereo system, cds and records, and more sheet music. Her keyboard sat under the small wall window next to the bookshelf, and her guitar against the bookshelf. The wall opposite her bed had her computer, headphones, school books, and a large corkboard filled with paper treasures (concert tickets, school play programs, etc) and pictures. Miles smiled, he loved how Andy had made it her own—even if it was much different that it had been when it was Arnold's room or even his own.

Miles turned his attention to the skylight above the whole room, realizing just how much of an orange glow there was outside. "Let's head down for dinner, kids, it's getting a bid late."

"But Grandpa, our rooms are falling apart. You can't expect us to sleep in them," Phillip whined, tossing the remote back onto the couch.

"It's not that bad, kids. Besides your dad and I will be working all day tomorrow to fix up the house and we're starting with your rooms. They'll be looking brand new in no time." He gave them his most convincing smile.

All he got was a shrug from Phillip.

"Hey, I have a great idea! Why don't you guys come with us when we go to the hardware store! You can pick out the color for your rooms. Anything color you want," he added hefting Gertie up onto his shoulders.

"Weee!" the little one exclaimed.

Miles watched as Phillip's face brightened a bit. "Maybe we can even make your room cooler than Aunt Andy's. What do you say?"

With that Phillip smiled a huge grin filling his entire football shaped face. "Deal!"

"I'm home!"

"Daddy!" squealed Gertie, kicking her feet into Mile's collarbone. "Daddy!"

Miles followed Phillip down the stairs, bouncing all the way as Gertie giggled and wobbled on his shoulders.

Cassandra met them at the door, smiling at her husband, Arnold, at the bottom of the stairs. Arnold immediately hugged Phillip and stole Gertie from his dad's shoulders.

Cassandra looked at her watch. "You're later than I thought you'd be."

Arnold hugged her with one arm, still holding Gertie in the other. "Yah, sorry. I ran into an old friend and we caught up for a few minutes until the rain let up."

Miles watched Cassandra closely. She chewed on her lip for a minute and then smiled at Arnold. "Well, that's nice. Maybe you could call next time. You know, just to let us know you're okay. Your mom's had dinner ready for an hour."

"I'm sorry. I'll call next time." Immediately Arnold turned his attention away from his wife and started talking to the kids.

Miles frowned and wondered how long Arnold had been missing his wife's cues. He could tell she was unhappy with the fact that he hadn't called, but Arnold had married someone just like himself, who would bend over backwards to pretend everything was okay, even at her own expense. But Miles shook his head, it wasn't his place to tell either of them how to handle their marriage. They'd been married eleven years, they'd managed to make it work this long…

"Grandpa says we can pick out the paint for our rooms tomorrow!" Gertie exclaimed pulling Arnold along down the hall. "Can I get sparkly pink?"

Arnold grinned from ear to ear. "Well, I'm not sure they have sparkly paint, Gertie."

"Can we get regular paint and add sparkles then?"

"We'll see." Arnold chuckled and exchanged amused looks with his wife, both of them were trying to hold in their laughter and looked extremely happy.

_Yep, _Miles thought, _what do I know?_

"Come on lets go wash up for dinner," Arnold said, leading his kids into the kitchen. "Uh…Mom? What's burning?" he called as he walked into the kitchen.

Miles chuckled slightly as he heard Stella mumble a response and smash a pan lid down. Somethings never changed. He turned and went to the far end of the hall opening the door quietly.

The old man sat in a chair by the window, gazing down at the street below. His bald head shown with the nearby lamplight, his cane resting neatly by his chair.

"Dad?" Miles called tentatively.

Phil spun around and stared at him a moment before his eyes narrowed and picked up the cane and waved it wildly in the air. "Who are you? What do you want?"

Miles closed his eyes tightly and breathed in, as a painful clench squeezing inside his chest.

* * *

The street was quieting down and the sunset was almost completely set, just a few more corners and she'd be at the bus stop. When her phone rang breaking the calm of the evening, she sighed before answering it.

"Ms Pataki?"

Helga held in the groan that immediately threatened to leave her mouth. "Yes?"

"I have been trying to get a hold of you since this afternoon," the woman begin, the beginning of hysteria in her voice and Helga closed her eyes for whatever was coming. "My friend Francine Abernathy says you were rude and insulted her daughter during dance yesterday. Is this a normal occurrence during you dance classes?"

"I did not insult her, I merely stated a fact."

"You called her a goat," the woman replied, and Helga was reminded of the ever common "I'd like to talk to your manager" meme.

"I said she looked like a lame goat the way she was dancing." Suddenly Helga was feeling immensely regretful for ever commenting on Lydia Abernathy's dancing. But with the dances part Rhonda's event, she needed the girls to do their steps perfectly and Lydia was lazy and had a snobby, privileged attitude.

"And you think this is an effective teaching method?"

Helga held in the irritated sigh she so desperately wanted to let loose. "Generally it makes someone try harder when they are compared to a goat, or a rhino. I've also had tremendous success with an elephant."

"Are you trying to be funny, Ms. Pataki?" The woman's voice was icy.

"Of course not," she lied.

"Well, unless you apologize I will be forced to pull my daughter, Bianca Amoretta, out of your classes and out of Friday's performance."

Helga stopped walking. She could feel the blood drain from her face. Bianca? This was Bianca's mother? Bianca was her lead dancer with at least three solo dances. "I'm sorry, what?" she managed to choke out.

"You heard me. Apologize or Bianca is out."

The shock was quickly replaced with anger and frustration. "Well, I guess Bianca's out of the class then," she fumed gently.

"As you wish, _Ms._ Pataki. It's effective immediately." With that the woman hung up.

What did she just do? Helga threw a hand into her face. How was she going to fix this? Rhonda would have her head on a platter if the showcase was anything less than perfection.

_Wait a minute. You're Helga G. Pataki_, she reminded herself. _You'll find a replacement before Rhonda even has a chance to hear about it. You're unstoppable._ There was a refreshed bounce in her step and she reached the last corner and started to go around it.

That bounce in her step was immediately eradicated, however, as she collided full force with something tall, lean, and solid.

* * *

"Okay," Lila said through clenched teeth, "the sandwiches are all wrapped and in the fridge." She bent over squeezing the table edge tightly.

"Lila, are you feelin' alright?" Stinky asked, stepping over to her and laying a hand on her back.

"Of course." Lila stood back up forcing a smile and trying to speak normally. "Did you finish the chicken salad? And the fruit kabobs?"

"Sure did."

"Okay, I guess all we have left is—" she let out an agonizing groan as the pain overtook her belly and back again and everything around her middle tightened simultaneously. What she'd spent all day denying was no longer deniable.

"Lila?" Stinky asked, his face ashen with worry. "Lila?"

Lila eased her aching body into the nearest chair. "Honey, I think the baby;s coming."

"What?" Stinky's eyes went wide.

You'd think they hadn't already done this five times. "I think I'm in labor."

Stinky recovered his brain quickly though, jumping up and turning around gathering his bearings. "Okay! Okay. Let's get you on down to the car." He put his arms under hers and helped her to stand.

"But what about the food!" Lila exclaimed spotting their list on the table.

"Who cares?" Stinky exclaimed dragging her away from the list. "We have a baby on the way!"


End file.
